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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408649">In the palm of his hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse'>PenguinofProse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smutty Saturdays [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Hands, Pining Clarke, Smut, Smutty Saturday, Vaginal Fingering, hand thirst, pining and fluff and smut, soft hand thirst, thirst but soft?!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:53:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has feelings about Bellamy's hands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smutty Saturdays [24]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the palm of his hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/firrehearrt/gifts">firrehearrt</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here's a smutty Saturday! Huge thanks to Zou for betaing, and to Firrehearrt for the prompt. Happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She's ashamed to say that it's not the big heart she notices first. Not the warm eyes, the generous humour, the exasperated patience, nor anything else she might notice in a pure, innocent sort of way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No. It's the hands. The thick fingers, strong and sure. The veins that run the length of his arms and splay across his knuckles. The soft, careful palms that cradle a gun as if it were a sick child, and a sick child as if it were something truly precious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke never meant to like anything about Bellamy Blake, as it happens. But she sure as hell didn't intend to get hung up on his </span>
  <em>
    <span>hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…......</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tries not to dwell too much on the hands, as they learn how to run a camp together, how to make the rules together. There's no point, is there? He's not interested in the likes of her. Hasn't he made that clear, with all those </span>
  <em>
    <span>Princess</span>
  </em>
  <span> jibes? With his constant barbs about her privilege and her bossiness and everything in between?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But still she watches. Still she sees him throw a knife, or toss an apple, or heft a log for their building projects, and thinks that she'd like to know how it feels, to be cradled in the palm of his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…....</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first time she thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, they are on a day trip. Hardly the leisure cruises she used to read about, back on the Ark, but a raw mess of blood and hallucinations and survival.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And a dead body. There's a dead body, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When all that is over, Bellamy and Clarke sit together beneath a tree, and Clarke thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She looks at his hands, sees the way his eyes are looking right back at her. She watches as his fingers twitch on his knee, and she thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes. Those hands are going to touch her, now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then his fingers bite into the coarse fabric of his trousers, and she realises she's wrong. She realises he's going to hang onto his own thigh for dear life before he'd willingly touch her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever. It's fine. She's not hurt. He's not interested in the likes of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another twitch of the hand. He tears it away from its resting place, shoves it behind his back instead. It's a harsh movement, urgent and almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>fearful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He's hurting, and she doesn't like that. She could make him feel better, if only he would open his arms to her and let her try.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another shift of his hand. He's reaching for her this time, grasping at her sleeve. Is this it? Is this the moment they shift from </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> to </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come with me.” He says. Just that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallows down disappointment and confusion. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and me. Screw everybody else. Let's just... go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's tempted. She's so foolishly tempted, quite against her better judgement. She's tempted because in this moment he is looking at her like he wants something from her, even if it is only her company on this ill-planned venture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his hand is still on her sleeve. Not grasping the fabric, now, but resting smooth on her forearm over the top of her jacket. She stares down at it while she considers her answer. If she gets this wrong, this might be the last time she ever gets to feel the safety and security of his sure grip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can't. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> can't. I can't do this without you, Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks surprised. She doesn't know what he was expecting her to say – a less personal plea, perhaps? A reminder of his sister?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She may only have known him a couple of weeks, but she knows already what he needs to hear at times like this. He just needs to hear that he is wanted and appreciated in and of himself, that he's doing a fine job. That she values him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> value him, for the record. She values his honesty and his courage and his protectiveness and his warmth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Life was a hell of a lot simpler, she thinks, when she only noticed him for his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…....</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tries so hard not to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, after that day. She does her best to put Bellamy Blake out of mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's not successful at all. How could she be, when he's right there? When they're leading a camp together, and gradually edging towards friendship?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She makes a compromise with herself instead. She will put out of mind all inappropriately sexual thoughts of him. She will seek out his smile because she wants him happy, not because it lights up his face. She will urge him to laugh because everyone deserves to feel light-hearted, once in a while. And she will reach out for his hands when it makes sense – when he is handing over a radio, or when she is in danger of falling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That doesn't work either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She makes a new compromise with herself. Maybe she's allowed to notice his beauty in an </span>
  <em>
    <span>abstract</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of way. She's an artist – she has an interest in the human form. It's only natural.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She thinks she might almost manage to sell that one to herself, if it weren't for the hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking</span>
  </em>
  <span> at them which is causing her trouble, these days. Not even imagining his palms warm against her cheeks or his fingers coaxing her to pleasure. Since they became friends she has a bigger problem than that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She just wants to hold onto him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It almost kills her, the first time she gives into that impulse. The day she sneaks into Arkadia to try to save him from his demons, and he cuffs her to a table for her trouble. He only gets away with that because she's so stupidly desperate to cling to his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the second time? The second time, it saves her. The second time, she is on the threshold of the City of Light, about to walk right into the strangest danger she has known.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second time, he is her anchor. That's when she realises she was all at sea without him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…....</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next time she thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the world is ending.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has given up on trying not to love him, now. That was a lost cause, she has realised. But all the same, she's not sure how to go about actively loving him instead. She's abysmal at love, as far as she can tell. Everyone she loves ends up dead, or broken, or both. And Bellamy already has enough troubles of his own, without her adding more to the pile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tonight might be the moment. He's just written her name on a list – a most important list. And she's almost giddy with the relief of it, the knowledge that there is someone in this world who believes in her even when she has more or less given up believing in herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then it gets better. Then he sets his hand on her shoulder, gentle but certain. His palm burning warm through her shirt, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to remind her he's there, resolved to do what it takes to protect her. She leans in, rests her cheek on the back of his hand. It feels so good – a moment of comfort and safety amidst all this fear. The softness of his skin, the firmness of his grip, the scent of him as she allows herself to press a little more deeply into his touch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wonders what to do next. A kiss on his knuckles, perhaps? A smile up at him? A simple question?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get some sleep.” He says, not unkind, but not hanging around for a hug, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. Well then. Not today. Not this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…....</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world ends – and Clarke's world ends, too, when Bellamy leaves her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That's a silly way of looking at it, of course. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> him to leave. Obviously she did – she wants him to be safe. But she still feels irrationally, hopelessly abandoned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She makes the best of it. She survives. She adopts her daughter, builds a life in Shallow Valley.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And along the way she sketches the same pair of hands over and over and over again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…....</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He comes back from space with the same hands. They're the only thing that's the same, Clarke sometimes thinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hair is longer, his jaw hidden. She can't read him so well now she can't see his face grow tense when he's unhappy – or maybe he doesn't even do that any more. Maybe that's a mannerism he grew out of like he grew out of caring about her, she thinks, sour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He comes back with a different family, too. A different set of loyalties and ideas, and even a different personality in some ways. He's more measured, more confident, more sad. He doesn't laugh anymore – and he sure as hell doesn't trust her judgement any more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They try to do a little better, as they move towards a new world. There are stiff jokes, made more for the sake of putting on a show of good humour than because they are quite ready to laugh at each other, yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then he tries to kill her. Then he puts those beautiful hands around her throat and tries to squeeze the life out of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn't know how they come back from this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy doesn't know either. So much is obvious. He seems to be trying harder, she thinks. He follows her round more, asks after her opinions, talks about forgiveness and gives her a hug. She's worried that those might be things that mean more to her than they do to him. He's just trying to be friendly, perhaps. He's still with Echo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only then she sees him have a conversation with Echo that looks an awful lot like a breakup, while she's across the floor dancing with Cillian.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…....</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The third time, she does not think </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely. Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's not missing another chance. Not when they have already missed so many, when they almost ran out of chances, there, as Josephine hijacked her body. Not when he just coaxed her back to life with those perfect palms frantic on her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She seems to remember she used to worry a lot about doing this </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. About her poor track record, about being ready, about him coming back from space changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She no longer cares about that, somehow. Death will do that to a girl. She has decided it is better to risk doing it wrong than not to do it at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So it is that, when she wakes up to the sight of Bellamy crouched at her bedside, the feel of his hand warm on her thigh, she does not mess around. She reaches for his other hand. She pulls it towards her lips, uncurls his fingers, presses one soft, slow kiss to his palm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tucks his fingers back over it afterwards. She's not sure why. To protect it, maybe? To stretch this moment out, make the most of it while it lasts just in case he wants no more than this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What was that for?” He asks, hoarse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrugs. “For </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. For being Bellamy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks at her, silent, thoughtful. His jaw works – Clarke notices that, this time, beard or no beard. Maybe his hands are not all that remains unchanged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's more tentative than he used to be, she notices, as he reaches for her hand. Less sure of himself. Not the cocky, arrogant young guy she first noticed all those years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wonders where he's taking her hand, now. She follows it with her eyes. Watches, fascinated, as he raises her knuckles to his lips in turn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For being Clarke.” He mutters by way of explanation, before she can ask. He's still holding her hand, she notes, calloused thumb rubbing her knuckles gently. In all her years of dreaming of his hands, she never did fantasise about that. A foolish omission, she decides now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes a deep breath, feels it sink right to the bottom of her lungs. He did that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bellamy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He brought breath back to her body again. Just another way in which she is endlessly indebted to this man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gathers her courage. She has led the human race. How much worse can a love confession really be?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I kiss you now, will I ruin us?” She asks simply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face lights right up. He's simply glowing, eyes sparkling, mouth hanging open in a stunned smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. But you might tear the stitches in the back of your neck.” He points out. He bites his lip, releases it to smile even wider. “I could come to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, and sure enough, nodding hurts. But she doesn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>care</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She doesn't care, because this is really happening at last.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bends low over her makeshift bed, presses his lips gently to hers. It's a good kiss – soft and warm and tender. But it's not all she was hoping for, somehow. It's a little too </span>
  <em>
    <span>polite</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A kiss can be gentle but still passionate, she hopes – and somehow, this is not quite it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tries to give him that hint. She reaches up to tangle her hands in his hair and urge him to deepen the kiss. He gasps into her mouth, seems to get the idea. He's kissing her more eagerly, now, tongue teasing her as well. She responds in kind and lets her hands start wandering, too. She can't decide whether to tug at his hair or dig her fingers into his shoulder blades or palm at his butt cheeks. There's a lot to explore, here, and she's been waiting for it a long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To say she's disappointed when Bellamy pulls back would be an understatement. Has she scared him off? Taken things too fast?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Does he not love her as she loves him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't want to hurt you.” He mutters, eyes still stuck on her lips, she notes. That's encouraging. “I only just got you back, Clarke. I can't do anything that might hurt you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm fine.” She insists. “I'm tired and I've got some stitches in the back of my neck. Apart from that I'm fighting fit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods. His throat bobs with a swallow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I nearly lost you. This is a bit of a... change of pace.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I didn't – if you don't want to -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to.” He insists, firm. “I've wanted to for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it's a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods. She can understand that. “Yeah. You're right, it is. But I swear I'm OK. We can go slow and – and maybe you could hold me gently? Like when we're hugging but – more?” She feels silly trying to articulate that, ends up flushing furiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's with her, though. He understands – of course he does. He nods, smiles down at her, makes a start by stroking a thumb across her cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“OK. We'll give it a try and I'll take care of you.” He promises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That's what she loves about Bellamy, more than anything. After a lifetime of leadership, she doesn't feel like a leader with him. He takes care of her when she's had to spend so much time taking care of others. She does her best to return the favour, but in this moment she feels like she's not doing enough for him, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That's why she takes his other hand, tangles their fingers together. She wants to show him this goes both ways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kissing is a little more heated, now. Octavia and Gabriel are nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, and Clarke hopes it stays that way. But she cannot hold that thought for long, because Bellamy is being very distracting, here. He's petting at her breasts with flat palms over her clothes, tickling slightly at her neck and then her arms with his fingertips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was right, she decides, a little smug. She was right to think that these hands are something quite special.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls his hands away from her to tug her trousers and underwear down gently, but urgently. It's just what she was hoping for – she feels wanted, but also cherished and protected. It's the perfect antidote to her ordeal with Josephine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I use my hand for you?” Bellamy whispers in her ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods, eager. She's been waiting years to hear him ask that – </span>
  <em>
    <span>centuries</span>
  </em>
  <span>, including cryosleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She decides he deserves to know at least some of that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I've had a thing for your hands since that day you saved me from the pit.” She admits, laughing at herself a little.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He freezes, looks at her in shock. “Really? All that time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets out a long, low breath. “We've wasted a lot of time, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's OK. We're here now.” She tells him, stretching up for a kiss. It tugs at her stitches, but it's worth it for the feel of his lips against hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's worth it even more when his hand shoots out to cup the back of her head, painstakingly gentle, and ease her way back down to the pillow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I get your fingers now?” She asks, a hint of teasing to her tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grins. “Needy, Princess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She flushes. He's not called her that in years. And then he's flushing, too, apparently realising what he just said – and why it's maybe somewhat unexpected, at this point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, then. Looks like he might have been hung up on her just as long as she's been dreaming of him, she muses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gets on with it, then. He seems to decide that's the best way to deal with his awkward moment. He starts teasing at her entrance with a finger, checking she's wet and ready. Honestly, she sort of wants to tell him to get on with it. She's spent lifetimes waiting for him – she's had quite enough foreplay to take a finger, thank you very much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He eases inside of her, and she can almost understand why he took his time. He does have rather large fingers, and she's quite a small woman. But it's not too much at all, and now he's moving slowly, apparently trying to get a feel for what she likes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's good. There.” She tells him when he gets it right. “More pressure than speed.” She recommends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes an agreeing sort of noise, still kissing her. His other hand is slipping down over her chest, now, massaging her breasts lightly through her shirt. It's not much, but it's enough, she decides. It's just right – a little tease to add seasoning to what his fingers are doing down below.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He adds another finger, starts working a little more firmly. He's reading her perfectly, Clarke notes, giving her the heel of his hand to grind up against as he works his fingers inside of her. She can smell sex on the air, now, and she's always found that something of a turn-on. The scent of her own sharp arousal and the taste of Bellamy against her lips make for a heady combination.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn't mean to start with the whining noises. They just happen, quiet and high pitched and a little pathetic, she fears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bellamy doesn't seem to be complaining, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's it. Let me hear you.” He coaxes. “You feel so good, Princess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her latest whine gives way to a moan. He likes the noises – she has nothing to be embarrassed about. And anyway, she really must stop worrying that he finds her </span>
  <em>
    <span>pathetic</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What he said about the radio calls was supposed to be a joke – she is sure of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S'good.” She murmurs against his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls back from the kiss, presses his lips to her neck a couple of times instead. “It is?” He prompts, teasing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So good. Perfect.” She assures him, growing breathless now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can't believe we're doing this.” He whispers against her ear. “You and me, Clarke. You and me at last after all this time. It feels so <em>right</em>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She kisses him for that, groaning into his open mouth. She doesn't know how else to reply, really, at this point. She can feel her pleasure building, and him running his mouth so romantically – almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>tenderly</span>
  </em>
  <span> – like that has pushed her even closer to the edge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's going to come around Bellamy's hand and it's going to be the best thing she's ever felt in her life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deciding that marks the turning point, really. That's when she relaxes, gives way altogether, simply lets the pleasure wash over her. That's when she loses her inhibitions and lets the groans rise from her throat without even trying to hold them back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>awesome</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's going to be the first purely good thing to happen to her in years. She's going to relish every second of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She comes with her lips on Bellamy's, but not quite kissing. She's too stunned by the hot mess of pleasure to do anything more than press her mouth against his and ride out the wave. She can feel her hips bucking up shamelessly into his hand, can feel him matching her and using the heel of his hand to ease her through the last of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then it's done. Then she's lying there, pantless, in someone else's tent and looking up into the face of her closest friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was even hotter than I imagined.” Bellamy tells her, hoarse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You imagined fingering me in some tent in the middle of an alien forest?” She asks pertly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “You're in a good mood.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I just came. Come on, what next?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He frowns. He kisses her. He frowns again. He really is a strange man, she decides – and that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> saying that, when she's been in love with him thirteen decades.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're going to get some rest and we can pick this up later.” He says firmly, starting to pull her clothes back into place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She's disappointed – and almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, somehow, as she snatches her waistband from his hands and finishes the job. “Don't you want to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But I love you, too. So I'm not about to risk tearing your stitches just to get laid.” He says, evidently trying to make a joke of it but not quite succeeding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She understands. She hears everything he's not saying, reaches out to take his hand. She'd love to take this further, but she knows that's simply not on the cards today. Not until Bellamy has had chance to get over the ordeal of watching her flatline, the anxiety of trying to bring her back. Not until he feels confident touching her without fearing she might break.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too.” She whispers, squeezing his fingers. His beautiful strong fingers that are still slick with her arousal. “I get it. I promise I'm not going anywhere. Nothing is happening to me. But if you feel more comfortable leaving it there, we can do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Last time I thought nothing was happening to you, I left you for dead an hour later.” He remembers, eyes sad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods. She can't undo that. She can't promise it won't happen again. All she can do is make the most of this moment, here and now, when they can be together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please get some more rest.” He pleads now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles a little half-smile. “Was that your cunning plan? Tire me out so I'd go back to sleep?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” He agrees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'll take a nap if you'll lie with me.” She offers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn't make her ask twice. He looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilled</span>
  </em>
  <span>, honestly, and right away he starts helping her to scoot across the bed so he can curl up behind her. It's blissful in a different but perhaps equal way to the bliss of that orgasm – warm and safe and comfortable, like walking through her own front door at the end of a long day hunting in Shallow Valley only a thousand times better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now go to sleep.” Bellamy murmurs, mock-stern, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck, just to the side of her stitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods sleepily. She is tired. And she'll go to sleep just as soon as she's done one important thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes his hand. She brings it to her lips. She uncurls his fingers, presses a kiss to his palm, tucks his fingers back over the kiss. After all, that worked out well for her the first time. It worked out very well indeed. And there's something about it that really appeals to her – as if she's showing him that he holds her heart in the palm of his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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